


Good morning, goodnight, shut up

by Green_Sphynx



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Enemies to Friends, M/M, mention of general sickness icky
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-01
Updated: 2016-06-01
Packaged: 2018-07-11 13:58:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7055326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Green_Sphynx/pseuds/Green_Sphynx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fenris' markings get infected in an unnaturally persistent way, and Anders doesn't quite know how to fix it. Neither is particularly happy about what this means: Fenris needs to remain in the Darktown clinic under Anders' constant watch to keep him alive, while Anders tries to find a way to fix this.</p>
<p>Fill for a kmeme prompt that specifically wants them to take more than just a few days to get over themselves and stop brooding.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> [kmeme prompt](http://dragonage-kink.livejournal.com/15999.html?thread=61941631#t61941631):  
>  There have been plenty stories of Fenris being under Anders' care and their relationship changing as a result, but with them I think one needs more than one or two days for things to drastically change between them.  
> Cue Fenris falling under a deadly disease which forces him to stay at Anders clinic for months! He has no choice in the matter since Anders is the only one who can hope to heal him and will be in need of constant supervision.  
> And, oh, how he hates it! ...At first.  
> Anders truly does his best to help Fenris who witnesses him doing what he can to help others. When the nightlamp is unlit, Anders attempts to help him cope with his boredom and healing process by reading stories to him, teaching him new things, letting him taste his best homecooking he can manage, and more.  
> Fenris doesn't realize it at first but he begins to enjoy Anders company. So much so that when the day comes that he's finally fully cured and well enough to leave the clinic, Fenris becomes a bit alarmed when he realizes that he doesn't want to go.  
> (Bonus points for bamf!Anders because I need more of that in my life)

Never before had a resigned sigh sounded so much like a death sentence.

Not even Danarius had managed that. If he sighed like that Fenris instinctively knew he had to be scared, punishment was just around the corner. But there was punishment... and there was _this_.

The pain was all but forgotten as he watched Hawke, his horror clearly visibly on his face for once. From the corner of his eye he noticed Varric looking mildly concerned at his expression, and he had every reason to. Even an idiot could know there was no way Fenris would consent to this.

“I will _not_ stay here.”

“You heard Anders,” Hawke responded before the mage could. Which was a good thing, because the infuriating man had already opened his mouth for some quip, and was now visibly disgruntled at missing his chance.

“You _will_ stay here, until you recover. Don’t make me pick you up from the street again because you stubbornly tried to get home by yourself.”

“I’d rather die on the street than being made to stay with the abomination!”

“Always so grateful,” said abomination huffed under his breath, turning away completely to start rummaging with something on a desk. _Good riddance_.

“You don’t mean that, Fenris.” Hawke was looking less angry, more pleading now. The man stepped forward and lightly perched on the edge of the cot Fenris was laying on, and even through his anger and his pain Fenris could admire the lightness of a man so heavy and strong. Fenris had yet to find someone who could make such bulk move as gracefully as a lithe elf.

“I’ll come by to check on you every day; or send Varric or Sebastian. I’ll try to convince Aveline to have Donnic patrol close to here as well so he can pop in now and then. And Anders is busy with the clinic anyway, it’s not like you two will have to stare at each other all day long.” A big meaty hand gently petted his head, and although Fenris doubted it was pleasant for Hawke to feel the sweaty hair matted to his forehead, he silently  appreciated the gesture. Silently. He did, however, glower at Hawke to make him stop that.

Luckily the man seemed to get the message and pulled his hand away, folding it nervously in his lap along with the other. It placated Fenris a little too see Hawke so clearly uncomfortable with this solution as well. At least he wasn’t being forced to stay in the abomination’s clinic out of a sadistic whim on their leader’s part.

“Anders likes you no more than you like him,” Hawke muttered, eyes flickering back up to the elf’s face. “You can bet he’ll do anything within his power to get you patched up as soon as he can. He wants you out as much as you do. So please, try to endure this? We don’t want you to die or get hurt even more.”

Fenris scoffed and turned his head away, but he no longer protested. Of course Hawke was right. Fenris wouldn’t last long – as he had already proven. He had been dragged in by Hawke in agony, his marks flaring bright and heavily infected and festering. The pain had been so intense he had actually missed most of the desperate scolding he had gotten about not going to the mage sooner, and about not letting Hawke know he was ill, and whatever else the Champion may have been going on about. It wasn’t his fault he had fallen so ill while Hawke didn’t need him for some time, was it?  
The mage had eased the pain to tolerable levels and managed to make the swelling go down, so with a calculating look at his burning marks Fenris had deemed it ‘good enough’. He’d been hurt before. It would heal.

Next thing he knew was waking up in a cot in the clinic _again_ , Hawke raging and visibly on the verge of tears, muddy and wet after having dragged Fenris once again from Hightown all the way to Darktown to deposit him in the mage’s care.

Fenris had to admit he owed Hawke some obedience on the matter now. The man had already gone through way more trouble for Fenris’ sake than was fair.

“So will you stay? Please?”

“Fine.”

“Promise?”

He scowled, but turned his head again, glowering at Hawke’s distraught face. “I promise. I’ll stay here until the abomination deems it safe for me to return home.”

Hawke visibly deflated in relief at that, and his grateful smile really shouldn’t make Fenris’ stomach flop over like this. But seeing Hawke happy was more addicting than all the wine in his basement, and seeing Hawke so upset was worse than the agony in his marks. No matter how he hated the prospect of having to stay here, he was glad he pleased their leader.

“So you’ve come to your senses?”

The scowl was immediately back in place as he turned his head once more, glaring at the mage standing on the other side of the cot with his arms crossed over his chest. He was giving Fenris a haughty look down his nose, but at least he had no victorious smirk on his face. It was probably like Hawke said: the abomination didn’t want him here anymore than _he_ did.

“Hawke, can I ask for a favour?”

Fenris let out a disdainful sound and looked away from the mage, while Hawke quickly stood with a surprised face.

“Of course! You know you only have to ask, Anders. I’ll do what I can.”

“Thank you. I was hoping you could perhaps arrange something more comfortable for Fenris to sleep in. Maker knows there are enough unused beds in his mansion – and perhaps some less threadbare sheets? Most of my patients sleep here a day at most, but this will clearly take a while. All the healing I had done yesterday was made undone before he even made it to his mansion, so I hardly know where to start. But leaving him uncomfortable... well, comfort _does_ improve healing, and I really don’t want him any more grumpy than necessary. A better bed with good sheets might make him more tolerable.”

“I’m _right here_ mage.”

Anders only deigned him a quick glance, clearly not pleased with his interruption. Fenris seethed. Just because he was sick and laying on this rickety cot didn’t mean the abomination got to talk to Hawke about him as if he wasn’t even _there_.

“I’ll uh... see what I can do.” Hawke rubbed his neck awkwardly, looking between them for a moment. He was clearly at a loss. Fenris supposed he couldn’t blame him for that, it was hard to break up their bickering when Fenris was going to be stuck here for a long time to come.

“I’ll be back with a bed and everything later today. Anything else I should bring?”

“No, that should be enough.” The mage shook his head, unfolding his arms and giving Hawke a grateful smile. A warm, grateful smile that just _screamed_ ‘suck-up’. “Thank you Hawke. I’ll see you later.”

Hawke nodded, and with another hesitant look at them both he gave a tentative smile. “Alright then. Until later.”

“Play nice, kids.” Varric lifted a hand in goodbye from where he stood close to the door, and followed Hawke out.

Unsurprisingly, an awkward silence entered with the Champions departure.

Or it was awkward to Fenris, at least. The mage simply turned and walked back to the desk to continue whatever he was doing, leaving Fenris by himself on the cot. The sheets itched, the frame creaked, the mattress... was there even a mattress?

He grumbled, started to shift and thought better of it immediately. With another displeased grumble he closed his eyes, unwilling to admit his gratefulness for the spell that soothed his pain and allowed him to sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

Sleeping was quickly turning out to be both the best and the worst way to pass the time in the clinic.

While asleep Fenris didn’t have to suffer boredom, or listen to the abomination’s voice turn warm and pleasant for each of his patients. He didn’t have to watch all the sick and the wounded dragging themselves over to their healer or question the puddle of vomit that didn’t get cleared away for almost an hour because the mage had his hands full trying to salvage a man’s arm. The arm _was_ saved instead of amputated – lucky bastard – and eventually the puddle of vomit removed from the floor by a gaunt looking abomination. Fenris could only wonder what the point even was down here in the sewers.

But sleeping was far from restful. Every time a child cried he all but bolted upright, forgetting his pain as he was nodding off, and hissing at the fire shooting through his marks. And then there were the crying women, the grunting men – Fenris didn’t even want to get started on the sounds the man with _the arm_ was making while the elf made a point of not studying the aforementioned puddle of vomit.

Every time he was almost asleep, a new patient came in making a racket, waking him up hard and fast.

By the end of the day Fenris was exhausted, and he had done nothing but lay in a rickety cot.

He counted himself lucky when Hawke arrived with some street urchins carrying a heavy bed that looked decidedly Tevene in style, and Anders decided to close up the clinic early with his arrival. Fenris was not asked for his opinion in the placement of the bed, but he wouldn’t complain as he saw the mage usher them to the far corner where most of Anders personal things seemed to be stashed. From his vantage point he could only recognise a writing desk and small bed hidden under a draped curtain, a few cabinets lining the wall.

Fenris’ bed was placed right after the cabinets. Head towards the wall so the mage would still be able to stand on either side. He would be right outside the mage’s personal corner. Perhaps three large steps worth of cabinets separating their beds.

Fenris felt grateful for not being placed even closer, and the clear message this gave about the mage’s intentions to keep an eye on him in case his state became worse again – but at the same time he cursed the fact he had to be so close to the mage in the first place. The other end of the clinic would not have been far enough. He didn’t need to be coddled, this wasn’t the first time he was in pain. He could handle it.

....at least as long as he didn’t pass out in the streets because the pain had become unbearable.

The mage came to him first, peeling the sheets covering him back to his waist without so much as a greeting or a check if he was awake. Fenris gave him a filthy look, which was just as easily ignored.

“I will numb your pain further so Hawke can help you walk to your new bed. Be careful, the numbness may make you more wobbly than you’re expecting.”

“I don’t need you to _numb my pain_ mage. I can manage.”

“Just like you did last time,” the blond sneered, cocking one eyebrow that mocked Fenris without speaking.

“I don’t need your magic on me!”

“As you wish.” Anders stepped back, pursing his lips as he looked down disdainfully. “I’ll have Hawke carry you. It’s better if he does anyway, less chances for you to get yourself hurt further with your stubbornness. I only offered for the sake of your dignity anyway.”

Fenris gritted his teeth, but he couldn’t take it back. He couldn’t call Anders back now and ask him to let him walk after all. Even he knew the mage would not stand for it, and if _he_ told Hawke Fenris was not to walk unless accepting the spell, there really was no way out of it. Hawke would carry him to the other side of the clinic over his shoulder like a sack of flour if need be.

His hands clenched and unclenched in frustration as the abomination calmly walked back to where Hawke was just paying his urchins. Pain lanced through the swollen, burning marks, like pressing hard on blisters. His right palm felt wet, and when a sharp sting of pain suddenly bore into it, he realised it wasn’t just a case of clammy hands. The skin stretched thinly over the festering mess of his marks had broken, and only the sting was thanks to sweat. Not the wetness.

He had to resist the urge to gag, refusing to lift his hand and look at the damage.

“You doing alright?”

When Fenris looked up, he immediately noted the worried look on Hawke’s face. He could feel the sheen of cold sweat on his face and exposed chest, feel the thumping pain in the marks almost increasing as Hawke’s eyes slid over them.

He jumped slightly when he felt a palm on his forehead, Hawke’s worried expression suddenly close. _When had he leaned in_?

“You’ve gone really pale. Should I leave you here a little longer before I move you around?”

“That won’t be necessary,” he managed through gritted teeth, finally uncurling his right hand again. “I just... seem to have broken skin in my palm. If you could give me something to wipe my hand, I’d be ready to move.”

Hawke went a shade paler himself, and visibly swallowed before shaking his head. “I’ll get Anders to look at it. We don’t want it to get infected more or something.”

“Hawke.” His voice was low and gruff, and had he been hurting less he might’ve been just a little bit amused. “The pus is literally pooling in my hand. It _can’t_ get any more infected than this.”

For a second he worried Hawke was going to throw up, but the man was stronger than that. He merely swallowed heavily again and offered a sheepish smile. “I’m getting Anders anyway. It might be best to have him around when I pick you up too.”

Fenris grunted noncommittally, but didn’t protest further. It would be a waste of his breath.

Anders arrived with the cool swipe of a wet rag in his hand, the healing spell keeping the pain of the touch at bay. The mage lifted his hand a little to turn it in the light, before allowing another spell to soothe over it and eventually folding Fenris arm over his belly. Fenris snarled, moving his hand to press it down to the sheets immediately again.

The abomination snarled back, but turned to Hawke with a more comforting look.

“It’s fine, it was just a minor tear in the skin. Pick him up carefully, try not to put too much pressure on one mark. We don’t want them to burst uncontrolled.” _‘–or Hawke ending up covered in pus from the waist down’_ was left unsaid. Fenris felt disgusting.

No, scratch that. He really was disgusting. Covered with sweat and pus and blood – and they wanted to put him in a clean bed like this?

As if reading his mind, the mage frowned and put a hand on Hawke’s shoulder. “Wait. I’ll clean him off a little while we’re at it. It would be a waste of the fresh sheets you just put on the bed.”

“Alright.” Hawke was looking down at Fenris with a doubtful look, and the elf merely scowled. He hated it when he agreed with the abomination. He hated it even more right now, because it was humiliating. So when the man returned with a freshly wetted cloth, Fenris reached out in an attempt to snatch it from his hands. _Of course the abomination wouldn’t let him._

“I can clean myself,” he growled, warning in his voice.

“You may think that, if you like, but that doesn’t change the fact that _I’ll_ be doing it.”

His eyes flew to Hawke in a desperate plea for help before he could stop himself, and the man quickly took a step back, raising his hands in defence.

“I refer to the healer, Fenris. Seeing how easily the skin breaks over those infected lines, I’m pretty sure Anders is right. He can see what he’s doing and heal whatever he harms.”

“Pfah. Make it quick.”

Fenris turned his head away, tensing up and feeling all the pain flare up at the movement. He was as ready as he was going to get, expecting this to be a quick wipe-down.

He was mistaken.

For someone looking so displeased and cold, the mage sure had a gentle touch. The cool cloth was gently patted over his chest, cleaning away all bodily fluids that shouldn’t have gathered there. He heard the man clear his throat and an embarrassed fast apology from Hawke, and as Fenris tried to look curiously from the corner of his eye he was met with the sight of Hawke turning away at the same time as Anders uncovered the rest of him. Fenris’ hands clenched again, but he allowed the mage to clean him up completely, at least being grateful for the professional touch. Then the sheet was pulled over his lap, and a soft shuffling sounded before large hands were carefully sliding under him.

Fenris gritted his teeth in pain and felt dizzy when he was lifted up, an arm under his knees and one under his shoulders like some maiden. He was lifted until he was pressed against Hawke’s chest, and he felt the cool cloth again as Anders washed his back.

He let out a displeased grunt when the mage passed over his ass, certain he felt the man pause. But as the touch of the cool cloth disappeared and Hawke walked across the clinic, he wasn’t so sure anymore. It might’ve been his imagination. Maker knows why he would imagine the abomination linger anywhere on his body, when they hated each other with such passion.

Or perhaps because of the passion.

He grunted again in pain when he was lowered on the fresh sheets, eyes fluttering closed at the pleasant feeling of cool and crisp cotton beneath him. The mattress was far better than the cot he had been on before, and the sheets drawn over him were still cool as well.

It was almost... comfortable.

Fenris drifted off in a matter of seconds, too exhausted to remain awake.


	3. Chapter 3

_There were claws ripping in his skin- tearing, cutting, pulling him apart. It was hurting more than anything he could remember, and he wished he was back with his master. Master would soothe the pain. Master could stop this._

_Even if he was punished, a flogging wouldn’t hurt like this. Master would touch his chin, give him a pleased grin and the pain would soothe before a slap followed._

_He missed Master. It hurt so much. Please Master please-_

The pain started to soothe, and he sighed softly in relief. _Thank you, thank you Master. You are too ki-_

No. This wasn’t right.

_Only a grin of too white teeth. Just two eyes reflecting bright lines of lyrium._

It was all hurting so much, it was hard to think straight. But there was a warmth on his head, a soothing motion of a hand petting his hair that sent cool currents through his body, the burning heat of his marks diminishing slowly.

“ _Fenris. Come back to me.”_

Fenris gasped, one arm shooting up to harshly slap the hand petting his hair away. Agony shot through the limb and he cried out, unable to bite down on the sound of weakness in time. Everything aching, throbbing, hurting- and then another cooling flow over his skin, calming the pain.

He saw wood and dirt and darkness swirling in his vision, and he was unable to determine where or when he was, but he found himself not fighting the gentle hand carefully picking up his wrist to lift his arm and drape it back over his torso. The hand pressed down lightly on his other hand, and he realised his fingers had been curling, straining and digging into his stomach.

He stopped.

The hand pulled away.

After a moment longer, the wild movements of the room came to a slow halt, and he felt his breath easing back to a normal pace before he even realised how he had been panting. A soft scribbling noise picked up, accompanied by the occasional little clink of a quill to glass. It was a sound he had heard so often, standing a few steps behind Danarius as the magister wrote.

He couldn’t quite figure why he should be hearing it now.

The pain in his throat was almost choking when he slowly rolled his head to the side, fighting against the dizzying feeling of pain as he tried to determine what was going on. He blinked slowly as he was first met with thighs, covered in a familiar coat. His eyes travelled up to see the mage calmly sitting on the edge of the bed, a broken board on his lap on which he was scribbling away with a quill. His attention was completely on whatever he was writing, even if he was sitting on Fenris’ bedside.

This was.... confusing.

His thoughts were still hazy, but things were starting to come back to him now. His brands infected something terrible, being brought to the abomination to be cured. The mage claiming he had no idea what was going on, but healing the infection and telling Fenris to stick around.

He didn’t stick around. He left, to go home, but clearly the infection returned just as fast as it healed. He woke up again in the clinic, this time in so much pain he could barely bring himself to move.

He stayed. He didn’t like it. The abomination didn’t like it.

So why was Anders sitting on the side of his bed?

“You have a desk,” he finally pointed out, voice rough with sleep.

“Indeed I do.”

Fenris’ eyebrows furrowed. This wasn’t really having the desired effect. He was... too confused. And miffed now too.

“Why are you not at your desk?”

One eyebrow cocked up, but the mage didn’t look away from what he was writing, the quill wiggling about as it eagerly scribbled on. “Your brands flared in your sleep. I came to keep down whatever it was doing, lest you kill yourself in your sleep. I have yet to figure out what exactly is wrong.”

 _That.... made sense._ Fenris blinked a few times, eyes feeling like they were filled with glue. His body was feeling hotter and hotter again, now that the mage was back to writing. He felt like he was boiling out of his skin, and with the fragility of said skin over the infected brands, he wouldn’t be surprised if he would actually start bubbling.

He tossed the blankets off himself with a grunt of pain, immediately regretting the movement. The cool air on his sweaty body came as a relief though, a shiver running through him as he closed his eyes.

Those snapped right back open when he felt the abomination move, tucking the blankets snug around him again before going back to his writing. He snarled, tossing the blankets away again, trying to make a smaller and less painful movement with his arm now.

Undeterred, the mage put down his quill, took the blankets and tugged them back over Fenris’ body, carefully tucking him in without touching his aching skin.

“It’s too hot,” he growled in warning, pushing at the blankets again – only to find himself stopped by a hand this time. His eyes crossed as he tried to glare at it, confused how the abomination was able to stop him with a single hand. A single hand, while he was still writing with the other. Anders had never been this strong.

“That’s because you have a fever,” came the calm explanation, once again with little attention to the elf. Fenris was feeling rather insulted, actually. The least the healer could do was _look_ at him when he spoke.

“Pfah. It’ll pass.” He tried pushing the blankets away once more, but when he was stopped by the hand again he gave up, scowling deeply. He laid his arms back down beside his body, face twitching slightly in his anger. _It was really too hot_. _Were the sewers always this hot?_

He dared a glance across the clinic, eyes widening slightly when he realised it was dark out. Dark, but slowly brightening. Like close before dawn.

He looked at the abomination again, who was still scribbling away. Fully dressed, looking rather dishevelled. If he had slept, it had not been in his bed.

He tried to process this, but his thoughts were still a whirling mess of heat and faint traces of a disturbing dream he couldn’t remember. He was pretty sure it had hurt, but that was all. He couldn’t fathom why the mage would be sitting next to him like this. It made him look like he cared. Of everyone coming to this clinic, Fenris had to be the one the mage cared about the least.

It felt like he blinked twice before he heard a sound, and as he and the writing mage both looked up at the door, Fenris realised with a start the sun had fully risen. His confused eyes found Hawke entering with a basket, grinning from ear to ear in a way Fenris recognised. It took him a few heartbeats to place the expression, and the mage had already stood up and walked away to his desk by the time Fenris figured it out. _Worry. That grin meant worry_.

“Good morning Hawke. I didn’t expect you to be here this early already. You should’ve slept a little longer, your body needs it.”

“Says the man who didn’t sleep at all.” Fenris heard the start of a protest of the mage, but Hawke interrupted him straight away. “You can’t fool me Anders. I can see when you stay up all night writing on that blighted manifesto. But what’s done is done, so you can make up for it by eating breakfast.”

“Hawke.” The voice of the mage was scolding, amused and grateful at the same time. Fenris felt mildly impressed, and equal amounts of jealous. They were so easy with one another. Hawke _trusted_ the abomination, and the mage trusted him in return. Fenris could hardly imagine, and he was uncomfortable with how the man he followed was on such easy terms with such a dangerous mage. But there was nothing he could do about it.

“Good morning Fenris. Sleep well?”

He blinked up stupidly, only noticing now Hawke had taken the spot previously occupied by the abomination. More worry, less grin now. A piece of bread offered against his lips. He scowled, wanting to protest he didn’t need to be fed, _but he was so dizzy, so hot._

Hawke only looked more worried when Fenris complied, opening his mouth to take the offered food.

He wasn’t even sure how much he ate before he slept again.

 


	4. Chapter 4

When Fenris woke again it was to the cool touch of a wet cloth dabbing his face. His eyes flickered open and the abomination paused for just the fraction of a second, before continuing what he was doing without acknowledgement of Fenris waking.

The cool touch was a relief, and even though he still felt disgusting all over – sweaty, bloody, smelly – the fact his face was clean was comforting. So he remained impassive under the healer’s hands when the cloth was set aside, two fingers gently laying over the marks on his chin – or hovering over it, perhaps, as the searing agony of touch was almost absent. Magic flowed, making his brands ache all over, but he endured. It was necessary.

Surprisingly Anders pulled away with a softly muttered curse, gathering up the materials he had used.

“What?”

The healer gave him a disapproving frown, but stopped to reply anyway. “I can’t figure it out. This is not a normal infection, I’ve healed it a dozen times now and it keeps returning just as fast. It’s unnatural, and I can’t find an explanation. Lyrium may be odd enough as it is, I never heard of it magically _growing_ infectants before.”

“So you’re useless.” He knew he was being petty, but he said it anyway. The healer was trying to save him. It was hard to show gratefulness to the abomination even at the best of times though.

“You can provoke me all you want, Fenris, but I refuse to let you die an agonising death as long as there’s a chance I might help it.” The mage turned away and wandered off with his equipment, moving to help newly arrived patients in the clinic. Fenris remained where he was, almost motionless as he had been for days now, feeling speechless in surprise.

Normally when he baited the mage, the response was _anger_. Normally he’d get attacked back for it. The mage couldn’t be honestly worried about Fenris, could he?

He watched the man in mild wonder as he took care of several patients, wrapping bandages and dealing out potions and poultices where applicable, saving the use of magic for more severe cases. Fenris noted the man send a patient with a cold away with nothing more than instructions to take care of himself, but an elder lady with the same symptoms was healed with a precious bout of magic, fragile body relaxing from heaving coughs. She too was sent away with instructions from the healer, and Fenris felt impressed with the mage’s understanding of his patients, even if he himself couldn’t quite determine where Anders put the line between using magic or not. To be honest, Fenris never knew Anders healed without magic in the clinic in the first place. Or at least not this much.

But clearly it was necessary, seeing how drained the man looked by the time he went to extinguish the lantern outside.

The clinic was empty again aside from the two of them, and Anders didn’t pay Fenris any attention whatsoever for the time he needed to clean up the clinic. Fenris watched him quietly as he put a large pot to boil, tossing the sheets of the cots and used bandages into it without a second look. Only then Anders approached him again, stopping by the side of his bed.

 

“How are you feeling?”

Fenris cocked an eyebrow. Stupid question. If he was feeling anything other than crippling pain he wouldn’t be laying here in this bed.

The mage sighed and gestured vaguely. “You’ve been awake for a few hours now. How are you feeling? Tired? Bored? Dirty? I would drain the pus now if you think you can handle it, or I could set you to sleep first.”

Fenris cringed slightly at the prospect, but huffed. “I can handle it. I don’t need you putting me to sleep with your _magic_.”

“As you wish.”

Fenris was sure he heard the mage sigh as he turned to gather up the things he needed, but he didn’t dwell on it. Instead he gritted his teeth, trying to keep his body relaxed rather than tensing in anticipation of what was going to follow. This would be by no means pleasant. He’d like to think he’d been through worse, much worse, and it was true but... the pain was wearing him down. The agony just _wouldn’t stop_ and he didn’t like to admit it, but he was afraid of the pain increasing now.

And yet, the man with whom he quarrelled so often, the man who he’d call his enemy first rather than a friend, was utterly professional when it came down to healing.

Fenris was uncovered, but just like before Anders barely blinked at his nakedness under the sheets, simply proceeding with what he had to do. A sheet remained draped over his groin while Anders worked on other places of his body, and the blond did not stare, joke, or even make an expression at his privates while draining the thickly infected lines that curved around his groin.

When Fenris was covered properly again he welcomed the magic that soothed the pain, tension he had failed to keep at bay flowing slowly out of his body.

“Will you sleep now?” the mage asked quietly, rubbing his tools dry with rags before he would add them to the boiling pot later.

Fenris pursed his lips before replying with a negative, a low noise in his throat that might as well have been an expression of pain. “I’m hurting, but not sleepy.”

“Even though you’ve been awake for this long?” Anders was watching him with a calculating look, and for a moment Fenris wanted to bristle, tell him he wasn’t a child who needed regular naps.

But he managed to bite down his anger, knowing it was a healer asking his patient, not an abomination asking his enemy.

“I slept long enough.”

That earned him a snort, and he glared at the mage’s back as he moved away to clean the rest of his equipment and materials. Annoyingly enough Fenris remained wide awake, not feeling even close to falling asleep even as he watched the healer go about his business through the clinic. His skin was searing with pain, but now his joints started aching as well with how long he had been stuck in the same position.

 

It was long dark out by the time Anders returned to check on him, clinic clean and ready for the next day. The man seemed satisfied with only a quick look and left again without a word, passing across the ‘private’ corner to uncover his own bed from the sheet draped over it. Fenris frowned as he noted ‘bed’ was rather a flattering word for the rickety cot standing there.

Why did the abomination have a proper bed brought over for Fenris while he slept in _that_? Although, perhaps he didn’t. Perhaps that’s why he barely slept and usually hunched over his manifesto.

With a small startled sound Fenris whipped his head around, marks on his throat burning at the movement, but he hardly noticed. The abomination had simply started undressing and-

And what?

Fenris scowled at himself, unable to figure out what the problem even was. He was pulled from his confused thoughts just as quickly by the mage sitting down on the edge of the bed, dressed only in a long threadbare under tunic.

“You must be bored,” the mage stated – an observation, not a question. “Today a patient gave me a book as thanks, with the idea I could sell it for some coin. It seems to be simple stories from around the Free Marches. Would you like to read with me until you can sleep?”

Fenris blinked. And again.

Was the abomination honestly coming here to entertain him now? _Why_? Either way it didn’t matter.

“I can’t-”

Fenris was interrupted by a hand, a weary smile on the mage’s face. “I’ll fix you to sit up a little, and we can read together.”

Fenris wanted to point out it was useless. He wanted to hiss and snap and tell the abomination to shove that book up his ass. He wanted to throw the chunk of paper across the clinic or rip it to tiny shreds.

But Anders had gentle hands, lifting him slightly upright carefully and stuffing pillows under his back. He moved to sit next to the pillows, book in his lap where Fenris could see it. And just when Fenris thought to protest again, a long finger with calluses from writing and the use of scalpels pointed to the first series of squiggles on the page. Anders started to read, finger trailing along the line, only to move back to the left side and indicate the second line after reaching the end. He continued like this, reading a silly story about some shepherd girl in the Marches while keeping a finger to pass under the writing in the book, indicating what he was reading.

Fenris bit his lip as his eyes followed the finger over the page, unable to make out what was written but able to hear the words spoken, and he refused to feel the grateful warmth in his chest for the mage’s silent understanding. Damn the man.


End file.
